Cold as Ice
by francis2
Summary: 1952 the morning after a wedding night ends up very cold.


Mick stared at the limp form in his lap for what felt like hours. The blonde hair, the white skin, the lace on her dress and the little hat she was wearing – it all was spoiled by the blood splatters that he left when he drained her. She was dead. No heartbeat. He startled when he realized that he could tell without taking her pulse.

He shivered. It shouldn't have been this way. He didn't want to kill her, he had tried with the last leg of his conscious mind to avoid this, to stop before she was seriously hurt. But he hadn't. He had lost it, lost all remnants of decency, of humanity, of restraint, and had taken her blood until there was nothing left. It had smelled so good, tasted so good, and Coraline had been standing above him, smoking a cigarette now and smiling that indulgent and satisfied smile that he craved like air and water.

He still couldn't move. He sat there, on the pavement behind a parked car, while dawn was painting the sky blood red in the east, like some deranged parody of a Pieta, the dead girl in his lap. He didn't even know her name, didn't know who would miss her, what her plans were for her young life. Maybe if he tried to see her as some kind of food, it wouldn't hurt so much. But he couldn't do that. He couldn't get over the fact that he felt energized and content with her blood in his veins, that it had thrilled him to taste her fear, and he recoiled from the thought that he had become some kind of monster tonight.

Coraline snuffed her cigarette, reached out and took the girl from his lap, then placed her on the backseat of the car and came back to him. She was silent, smiling as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She reached out a hand to help him up.

"Come on, Mick, let's get home. Sun is rising, and soon you will see that fledglings aren't supposed to be out in the day."

His eyes sought hers, and he couldn't help but feel good when she smiled proudly at him, as if he had done his first baby steps or said the first words. How had she changed from his wife to his mother? It felt awkward. When he took her hand and rose, he suddenly had the urge to kiss her senseless. Not quite the feelings a kid should have, right? But he was no kid, and he was going to prove it. He crashed her body against the hood of the car, kissing her forcefully, hissing and growling and moaning. Very soon he realized that it wasn't all his, that she was making as much noise as he did. She enjoyed what he was doing with lips and fangs and hands. He stopped.

She wanted him to be the monster. She had made him into one. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

He took a step back and opened the passenger door. "Let's get home," he said and tried to keep any emotion out of his voice.

She lifted her eyebrows, smoothed down her jacket and entered the car. They drove in silence, and he tried not to think about the dead girl in the back seat. But the blood on her clothes still thrilled him and made him remember the way he enjoyed his meal.

Back at the mansion Coraline took his hand and led him to a hidden closet in their bedroom. He hadn't seen it before. There was a big freezer in its centre, and when she opened it it was empty. "You should sleep," she said. "Get out of your clothes and climb in."

"In a freezer?" he squeaked. Not very manly, he admitted to himself, but this was ridiculous.

"Try it. You will love the cold. Much better for your rest than digging a cellar."

He kept his underwear, and she laughed. The same melodious laugh that had made him realize he was in love. "You will only freeze to the bottom if you keep that on. And you don't need a blanket either, isn't that fine?"

"Do I need to go alone? Will I have enough air?"

She laughed again. "You don't need to breathe when you sleep, silly. And there's not enough room for two. I have another freezer in the bedroom. Now go, you need more rest than I for you are still very young. You will feel better tonight."

He relented and climbed in, the whole package of the marriage, the night of his turning and the morning where he tried to run away from her, left him emotionally drained and exhausted. She closed the lid with almost something like tenderness. When she turned around he opened it from the inside just a little to be sure he could get out on his own. She took one last worried look at him and left.

The cold actually felt good, he had to admit. Cold as ice, that's how his life would be. Cold as ice was how Coraline felt to him, now. He would be like her, unfeeling, stagnant for eternity, not aging, not living. Taking blood from poor innocents and killing them.

His heart would need to become much colder to survive this.


End file.
